"You looked like that flower," he said, unexpectedly, "when I saw you first."
She answered him valiantly.
"Was I so pale with fright?"
"I wasn't thinking of that," he said; "but—the thing hasn't been so difficult, has it, after all? I didn't ask too much of you? We have been good comrades and all that, haven't we, Susan? You have never wished——?"
Wished it undone? She could not speak. It was over. He was going to tell her that it was over. She thought of that far-off night of amazement, of her panic-stricken impulse, of his hand on her shoulder that had stopped her flight.... Ah, it had been worth it all. Passionately she was glad of it. She had had so much.
"No," she said, "I have never wished——" and, like him, she left the words unfinished.
And then, with the past close upon her, she forgot everything but him. How she used to think of him, dream of him, dead, who had come to her rescue!
"Oh!" she cried softly, touching his rough tweed sleeve, "isn't it wonderful that you are alive!"
They stood a minute or two in silence, neither speaking, and then Barnaby broke the spell.
"Why did you wander down here in all that drenching grass?" he said. "Your feet are wet."